Poison Abridged Version
by kidavi
Summary: Vergil catches Dante at a bad time. Guro, twincest. Abridged. Full NC17 version on AFF
1. Chapter 1

**Version Notes**: This is the FF-safe _M-rated abridged version of **Poison**_, and contains the first 5 chapters ONLY.

_Full version_ is 8 chapters + an epilogue and is _not_ hosted on FF due to extreme adult content.

The _full version_ of this fic is an NC-17 / MA lemon and contains: blood and gore / guro, sado-masochism, bloodplay, yaoi, twincest, rape, and humiliation.

This _abridged version_ contains: blood and gore / guro and D/V twincest (lime, no sex).

The full 9-part fic is hosted on AFF under the same pen name (kidavi).

**Author's Notes**: This fic is based on Capcom's Devil May Cry. Characters are the property of said franchise and are being used and abused in naughty ways without permission.

The story takes place shortly after Devil May Cry 3 and before Devil May Cry 1 (if you're familiar with the games, you know that DMC3 is a prequel). It requires you to be at least vaguely familiar with the story and characters therein (although the full version goes into more detail).

If you enjoy reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it, that makes me a happy panda.

Please review / comment (preferably on the full version, if you choose to read it).

Chapter I

Poison. It was poison. He had to lean heavily on Rebellion's hilt; his breath was becoming ragged. Flames were licking his insides; molten rocks in his gut. He could only muster one coherent thought, just a word, a question: why? Was his human blood so thick? Was his demon blood so weak that it couldn't outmuscle this foreign substance that had invaded his body? One corner of his mouth twitched, then curled into a half-sneer and he let out a breath that was more a pant than a laugh. Unbelievable.

Another dragging, leaden step. Then another. Rebellion was growing heavier in his hands and its point scraped unattractively along the concrete. Whoever heard of using a demonic sword as a cane? Another wry, pained laugh… pant… whatever. Even the comforting, familiar weight of Ebony and Ivory in their holsters felt like a dead burden on his back.

One more block… the office was only one more block away. 66 Slum Avenue… the drunken rowdies outside the Bullseye cast him first a sideways glance, and then an unadulterated stare. He ignored them and concentrated on his feet. That moth-eaten lumpy old couch had never seemed more appealing than it did just now— hell, even the stained, splintery wood floor of Devil May Cry sounded comfortable. Anywhere to lie down and sleep this off, to let his body sink down and resurface anew.

Almost there.

And then a new sound, strangely amplified in dulled ears; the sound of wind rushing past coattails and steady legs, the sound of light footsteps and— oh God, the metallic scrape of a sword being drawn from a sheath.

Through a burning haze, Dante straightened (more fire, this time concentrated in his lower back) and yanked Rebellion's point out of the sidewalk in what felt like slow motion. Arm up to parry… his thoughts weren't any quicker than his actions now, it was muted instinct— the sound of clashing metal, a rush— and then more fire.

The poison haze suddenly dissipated, replaced by a newer, sharper pain that drove the wind from his already winded body. His eyes widened in shock, but they weren't the only ones. He stared mindlessly into Vergil's matching silver-blues, inches away, which were mirroring his own expression. It was almost worth another laugh, but this one came up with a coppery taste; a few drops of blood splattered his brother's cheek.

An eternal moment, and then Dante's head fell heavily against Vergil's shoulder, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and melting into the silky blue material of his twin's coat. Dante smiled vaguely at this (soiled your coat, you bastard). Yamato's blade was buried between his ribs; he could feel the steel scraping against bone. Another wet cough, this time with no trace of a laugh in it. His body shuddered involuntarily, and the blade sank a few centimeters deeper. He was vaguely aware that the tip was protruding from his back, and felt a twinge of mulishly inane irritation; bastard better not have put a scratch on Ivory.

Dante felt a muscle in Vergil's shoulder twitch beneath his forehead. Slowly, deliberately, the blade was withdrawn from his body, and with a sickenly wet, sucking sound, he knew a lung had collapsed. With the sword gone, his knees unlocked and buckled. He felt Vergil fumble as though unsure whether to catch him or to allow him to crumple onto the pavement; a gloved hand brushed his elbow, then he was steadily seized under both arms as he sagged.

Dante smiled to himself again at Vergil's obvious uncertainty. Although he couldn't see his brother's face (his vision was positively swimming now, and focused somewhere in the vicinity of his brother's midriff), he could tell by Vergil's movements and posture that he was utterly confused.

His skin was cooling rapidly; the blood oozing down his side was hot and slick. The demonic poison was still coursing its way through his veins, and Dante allowed himself one last ironically satisfied smirk before he unceremoniously slumped, unconscious, in his brother's confused embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: "hasaki" is the sharp cutting edge of a katana blade

** Chapter II **

Vergil felt the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown as he coldly regarded the limp figure in his arms. Truly, he had intended to kill his younger twin; but he had never expected it to be this easy. Something was amiss, and it left a bitter, unsatisfactory taste in his mouth. An angry knot squirmed in his chest and his fingers curled, clenching the smooth material of Dante's red leather coat. A low growl of exasperation escaped him, and he let the limp form of his brother slide from his grasp; he felt a dark satisfaction as Dante's head thudded on the pavement.

The bastard had actually passed out smiling. Vergil balled his fists convulsively, and then in one swift movement, leveled Yamato's tip at his unconscious brother's throat. He allowed the sword to prick the pale skin exposed there; a drop of blood blossomed beneath the glinting blade and slid slowly into the hollow of Dante's clavicle. Vergil watched it with calculating eyes, which then traversed down his brother's chest to the gaping wound between his ribs. Blood was still bubbling there with the rise and fall of faint breathing.

Still? The wound wasn't healing as it normally should have, and Vergil touched a forefinger to it. It was a light touch, but Dante's skin shivered beneath his finger, and though the blood was hot, the flesh was almost ice-cold. Vergil licked the finger tentatively; the expected salty copper, but something else as well, something pungent and bitter. Demonic poison? He spat on the ground.

He was weak, to allow himself to be put in such a state; disgust and disdain crept across Vergil's Apollo-like visage… but then gave way to something else— disappointment? Dante deserved to die a dog's death for his cowardice, his fool-hardy mortal whims… but not from poison. He needed to die fighting, to die on Yamato's keen hasaki.

Vergil sheathed the sword slowly and studied his prone brother's form. His chest was rising and falling a little more evenly, it seemed; blood still oozed slightly, but it was already congealing to the still-open wound. Dante shifted slightly, and Vergil's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He leaned closer over his younger twin and turned an ear toward Dante's parted lips.

While he had been agonizing and deliberating, Dante had slipped from unconsciousness into simple sleep.

In one deft motion, Vergil lifted an arm and struck his brother across the face with enough force to snap the neck of a mortal man. A hoarse breath and bodily shudder told him that Dante had slipped back into blacker dreams, and Vergil slipped an arm beneath his torso.

He hauled him bodily to his feet and draped a limp arm over his own shoulders; as an afterthought, he bent and collected Rebellion from the now-blood-stained sidewalk. If he remembered correctly, Dante's office was only a block from here.

With an agitated sigh, Vergil half-dragged, half-carried his brother toward the neon sign flickering against the deepening gloom of a moonless night.

** Chapter II FIN **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III **

His whole body felt heavy, but his eyelids especially. Why was it such an undertaking just to open them? A dim room swam into view; a pair of leather-booted feet, planted firmly apart and a… must be a sword sheath standing upright between them.

Dante's eyes flew open; he tried to turn over, to prop himself up on an elbow, but his arms weren't functioning properly: they remained stubbornly leaden at his sides. Craning his head back (more burning pain in his spine), he squinted upward at the stately figure seated above him.

Vergil leaned forward over him, hands folded serenely atop Yamato's hilt, and an unreadable expression written over his countenance.

Unreadable? What the hell was that? They were twins— Dante knew Vergil's face better than he knew his own, and although they may have been physical replicas, their expressions reflected a strong conflicted nature. Oh, he had the narrow-eyed angry one, the bitter, pinched, frustrated one, the stony, cold, greedy one… Dante's thoughts were slipping out of his own grasp now. Why was this so goddamn confusing? Without his bidding, his eyelids slid him back into restful darkness for a moment.

Vergil shifted his weight; the creak of the floor beneath Dante's pounding head dragged his jumbled thoughts back to the present situation, of which he realized suddenly he had yet to take stock of.

A quick calculation of assets: one pounding headache, one brutalized body that ached from fingertips to toenails, no Rebellion, no Ebony or Ivory… he was still having trouble breathing as well, but it was the lack of familiar weaponry that pricked his senses back to full awareness.

His arms seemed to have regained their functionality and he turned himself over onto his stomach with a pained grunt and raised himself up off the floor… only to look up in time to see a heavy foot swinging directly toward his face.

Normally, he would have grabbed the foot, twisted it at the ankle, flipped its owner onto his back, and then fired several rounds into his head. And instinctively he tried to do this, but his thoughts were rushing back in a flood now, and as Vergil's boot connected with his jaw, he distinctly recalled (not without a surge of fire licking his innards) the poison.

Poison…

Dante collapsed back onto the hard planks and felt a sick squelching from the vicinity of his chest that prompted a gasp to rise unbidden to his lips. He was panting now, and every breath was searing him from the inside. That poisonous red haze was rising back up, obscuring his vision again, flooding his view of those advancing boots, pouring back into his ears and blocking out the clicking of Vergil's heels on the wooden floor.

The word _helpless_ snaked into his consciousness and he actually snarled aloud as he forced it back down into the recesses of his mind.

The advancing boots halted when the animalistic sound ripped itself from Dante's throat, and the pause was long enough for the gathering adrenaline to garner a quick release. Muscles burning, Dante surged up off the floor and closed the distance between them in half a stride. He seized his brother's collar and landed the strongest blow he could muster (but it probably wasn't that strong…?) to Vergil's cheekbone.

- - -

Dante actually looked surprised that he had successfully landed a hit; Vergil had to smile indulgently, condescendingly, at him. What damage could he possibly do in his state?

Dante staggered, but remained standing, though his fist trembled as it remained clenched on Vergil's collar. With quiet calm, the older twin pried his brother's hand from his coat with cool, strong fingers.

"Don't, brother. You'll only humiliate yourself."

Dante's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't seem to have the strength to put up any more valiant resistance. He almost allowed himself to be pushed back; he sank to his knees, blue eyes cloudy. The fight seemed to be fleeing his body, and he was the picture of dejection as his shoulders slumped.

Vergil hated him for it.

Dante was supposed to be strong. He had always been superior in physical strength, in raw power. As much as he despised to admit it, Vergil had always been painfully aware of this. Something called pride was preventing him from taking advantage of the oddly turned tables; and something else (it couldn't possibly be pity… could it?) was preventing him from taunting his twin, from goading him into more pathetically helpless fury.

The mixture of odd feelings in his gut were prodding him into inner turmoil; wrath twinged with sympathy? It couldn't be. Dante was a traitor to his, to Sparda's, power. Nothing was more unbecoming than weakness, than helplessness.

Dante wasn't fit to wield the power of Sparda if he allowed himself to succumb to something as lowly as poison…

Vergil's teeth were clenched now. He wanted to kill his brother, to feel his blood spill over Yamato's hilt onto his hands, to pour onto the floor between them. He wanted to rip that power, the power of Sparda, from Dante's body and feel it flow into his own.

But there was pride (and fuck, there was something else too).

Now it was his turn to force an ironic smile; to allow a harsh cold chuckle to escape. Who was really the helpless one in this scene? Was it the man, weakened from poison, wounded, tired, weaponless, kneeling on the floor at his feet? Or was it he himself, the one armed and sound, who couldn't strike the fatal blow?

The silence was only stretched longer by the rasping of Dante's labored breathing.

_An impasse_, thought Vergil. Truly_, human emotions are a poison in themselves._

**Chapter III FIN **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV **

Note: a _sanchaku_ is a 3-pronged nunchaku

Why was he just standing there? It was taking all of Dante's little remaining strength just to stay conscious. And Vergil was still just standing there, looming over him, with that unfathomable expression.

Exhaustion was pressing in on him from all sides, and impatience at his unreadable twin brought an irritated scowl to Dante's face.

"Well?" he rasped, the harshness of his own voice startling them both. "You gonna finish this or—?"

"There's no honor in killing a dead man," Vergil drawled, and Dante raised clouded, tired eyes to his brother's face— and met with dull surprise.

Vergil's countenance did not reflect the forced nonchalance in his voice. The unreadable expression was cracking to reveal something else; something that looked familiar but foreign at the same time. It was more unsettling than that indeterminate mask because it was something Dante had never equated to Vergil; it was something he saw in his _own_ reflection now and then.

Something burning and intense (a little voice whispered _passion_ in his ear) was playing across Vergil's features. Still swimming through a fog of agony, Dante allowed himself the brief indulgence of mild curiosity. "Don't… don't get yourself too worked up, Vergil," he panted through the poison fog. "It doesn't… suit you…"

Vergil's chest was heaving now, and realization struck Dante with a pleasurable jolt: somehow, inexplicably, he had gained the mental upper hand. His usually unflappable brother was practically in panic… from what, Dante hadn't the faintest, but he grinned widely at the irony of it.

And then Vergil had lunged at him, was pinning him to the floor, a knee digging painfully into his thigh, the point of an elbow grinding into the open wound between his ribs. His throat was suddenly filled with blood (why did it taste so bitter?) and he choked on it, choked on the involuntary cry of pain that was fighting its way out of him. His eyes watered and his neck could no longer support his head; he let it fall back against the floor with a hollow thud.

The odd expression was gone from his older twin's face now; it had been replaced with a familiar cold fury. Lips curling unattractively, Vergil leaned his full weight on Dante's chest, their faces inches apart. Dante flinched impulsively and tried to turn his head away, but Vergil's other hand was tangled in his hair.

He wasn't afraid (did he even know the meaning of fear?), but a writhing desperation was starting to creep into his gut. The situation was hopeless unless he had a weapon; with his strength sapped by the poison, he had to be resourceful instead. He jerked his head and Vergil, for some reason, let go of his hair; he knew Cerberus had been draped over the desk earlier, and craned his head back to look, maybe to reach…

For a split second, he was vaguely aware of an animal-like motion, and then with a horrified thrill, he felt teeth close on his exposed throat.

- - -

Hot blood spurted into his mouth; Vergil felt his throat constrict to prevent from swallowing the poison. Beneath him, Dante's body spasmed and his back arched.

It was an insane thing to do, really… wild and irrational. He wasn't sure why he did it, but sick satisfaction was flooding his senses as his mouth filled with his brother's warm blood and the body beneath his twisted and convulsed. He bit down harder, and felt the flesh under his tongue vibrate as Dante cried out in affliction.

He unclenched his jaw and drew back, spitting a mouthful of vital fluid on the floor. Dante was staring at him with wide eyes and flared nostrils. "Sick… bastard—" he gasped, choking.

"Panic, Dante. Fear, regret," Vergil whispered. "Human weaknesses. Experience them all."

Blood was streaming from his younger twin's flushed lips; his cheeks were pale, but his eyes were strangely clear, and glittered silver in the caliginous light. He let out a wracking cough and then spit directly into Vergil's face.

The outrageous act he had committed had somewhat subdued the twisting dragon that had been writhing in his chest; Vergil calmly wiped the blood from his face while Dante glared up at him. With great deliberation and something almost akin to tenderness, he ran a cold finger along his brother's clenched jawline, tracing it up to his ear, along his temple… tangling his fingers in Dante's hair, which was clinging with damp sweat to his forehead.

He lifted his brother's head off the floor and allowed himself a slow, malicious smile before yanking his hair and sending Dante's skull smashing into the floor with a force that sent wood splinters flying…

But at the same time, a fist collided with Vergil's ribs, and this time it was a strong enough blow to knock the wind out of him; he grunted as he was thrown off balance and he felt Dante slide out from under him.

Clutching his side, Vergil looked up to see Dante stagger toward the desk and reach for something vicious-looking and icy: the sanchaku Cerberus. His fingers had almost grasped the weapon by the time Vergil had drawn Yamato and closed the distance between them.

Almost.

Vergil drove the blade up to its hilt through the back of his brother's left thigh—as he predicted, Dante fumbled long enough for Vergil to sweep Cerberus off the desk and out of reach.

They were both breathless now, but one from pain and exhaustion and the other from excitement.

Even poisoned and grievously injured, Dante was still managing a struggle.

He still couldn't bring himself to kill him, pride saw to that— but that other itching poison, that pity… that was gone now.

It had been replaced by an even stranger feeling; something stirring in his loins as he watched his younger twin's painstaking efforts to fend him off. Perhaps he could quell some of that defiance; or perhaps he could partake in it...? Innate disdain still struggled against the poison of human weakness, but Vergil couldn't help smiling in spite of himself.

**Chapter IV FIN**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes**: This chapter concludes the _M-rated abridged version of **Poison**_. The _full version_ is 8 chapters + an epilogue (see Version Notes in Chapter 1 for further info).

Thank you for reading; if you wish to continue, hop on over to **AFF**, **works!** (my website), or **Y!Hosting**.

Chapter V

He was losing his ability to maintain coherent thought… that had been a last-ditch effort, that desperate grab for Cerberus, and when it was swept out of his grasp, his supply of pure adrenaline had run dry.

On top of that, his left pantleg was clinging to his skin in a stickily confusing way. Was that blood? Why wouldn't Vergil kill him and be done with it? The room was blurring and Dante swayed and staggered— or he would have staggered, but now his left leg wouldn't support his weight and it buckled when he tried to right himself. He grabbed at the corner of the desk, missed, and collapsed ungracefully onto the floor.

It was almost impossible to breathe now. _Down one lung, and a gaping hole in the throat_, he thought desolately. He was a wreck. And now… Vergil was just standing there again! Couldn't the man make up his fucking mind?

Uncharacteristic rage was boiling up in his chest. His body was on fire, every inch of him was aching and sweating and oozing blood… and the poison, it just wouldn't subside. The fog was growing denser; through it, he wondered faintly if Vergil was just waiting around to watch him bleed to death.

_Vergil… you pride yourself on being so dignified, but you're really just a goddamn coward_. He had no breath to speak it, so he thought it bitterly to himself. He would have clenched his fists, but the best he could do was curl his fingers weakly. Vision was becoming useless now, everything was hazed over in red mist; he closed his eyes.

He didn't even have the energy to open them when he felt a rustle of motion nearby; through ragged gasps, he managed to croak two words at his brother:

"Get out." _If you aren't going to kill me, get the fuck out._

No response. He lifted a heavy hand and, wincing, placed it over his ribs; his fingers came away slick with poisoned blood. _It's still not healing…_

Then someone else was putting pressure on the wound with a cold firm hand; his whole body convulsed and he tried to gasp, but choked instead. As he tried to draw breath into his one remaining lung, something warm and moist pressed against his mouth; someone else was breathing down his throat, gently forcing oxygen into his bloodstream.

Someone else…

How idiotic, there was only one other person here. Dante had to smile incredulously against the lips pressed against his own; that person wasn't capable of being caring or gentle… _at least, not anymore_, came the sad afterthought.

His concentration was fragmenting; he wasn't capable of stringing thoughts together now. Someone (who?) was touching an exploratory tongue to his bloody lips.

But it was Vergil. There was no one else here, however much he wished it was Lady, the only other person… the person who had beaten him into senseless submission not minutes ago… was definitely his older twin brother.

This final realization sent recoil clawing up Dante's spine; he finally willed his eyes open, and though the features they fell upon were far from hideous, he was horrified.

But he was powerless too. He knew that if Vergil wished, he could perform a _coup de grâce _on him with a single finger. He tried to pull away, but his brother's mouth was hot and insistent— now he was crushing his lips against him, exploring him with a needy tongue.

The hand that had been pressed against his wound traveled up to his nipple, trailing a thick streak of warm blood across his shivering flesh. Another hand curled steely fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his head forward into the hungry kiss.

Every muscle in Dante's body protested with indignity, but that's all they did— protest. He couldn't summon the strength to resist as Vergil's slick, bloody hand slid from his sensitive nipple down his stomach, tracing the outlines of his abdominal muscles on its way to his hip.

A small noise of protest escaped him (was it a _whimper_?) and he felt Vergil smile against his mouth. _That bastard_… he really enjoyed humiliating him, didn't he?

The hand on his hip was moving again; now fingertips were following the top of the waistband of his pants, pausing at the snap…

That was too far. Ignoring the searing pain racing through his body, Dante managed to lift his arms to brace his hands against his brother's shoulders in an attempt to push him away.

For a moment, he stared at his own reflection in Vergil's clear, silver-blue eyes; then he threw his head back and gasped a soundless scream as his brother jabbed a finger directly into the wound between his ribs. Agony shot straight through him and then raced up and down his spine, fraying all his nerve-endings as it electrified his entire body. He struggled desperately to maintain consciousness (though really, what was the point?), drowning in the red haze again. As his body shook uncontrollably, Vergil retracted his finger and wrapped a strong arm around his back, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together.

He could feel his twin's hot breath in his ear, his whispered "Foolishness, Dante."

He let his head fall against Vergil's shoulder— not willingly, but because he couldn't hold it up any longer. His heart was racing; it felt as though it would leap out of his chest and burst into flames.

His eyes slid half-closed.

_Vergil… you bastard._

_You bastard…_


End file.
